


Circa Regna Tonet

by Direwolvesandgriffins



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 01:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Direwolvesandgriffins/pseuds/Direwolvesandgriffins
Summary: When a usurper takes the throne, the price is always paid in blood





	Circa Regna Tonet

Rhiannon swept through the halls of the palace, her ladies trailing behind her. At this early hour, the only faces she saw were those of the servants who quickly scurried out of her way with bows, curtsies, and muttered 'Your Majesty's. She nodded politely as she continued on her way, stifling a yawn as she went.

Damn Alistair and these early meetings; when would he realize that most people weren't used to being roused from sleep at the bloody crack of dawn.

Lost in her thoughts, she rounded the corner and nearly bowled over Arl Eamon. Though, she supposed it wasn't Arl Eamon any longer now that he had been made Chancellor. Eamon was dressed and groomed, but even that couldn't disguise the fact that he had recently come from his bed.

"Oh Eamon, I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't see you there."

"It's quite alright, Your Majesty," he replied, "the hour is if you don't mind me saying, far too early for anyone to have their wits about them."

She smiled and nodded, "I quite agree, My Lord. Perhaps I shall have a talk with my husband about his fondness for early meetings. Shall we walk together then?"

As they made their way down the hall, Rhiannon chanced a glance at the man beside her. In the first month following the defeat of the Blight, Eamon's presence had been a much-needed one. However, it soon became obvious he had no intention of leaving. Before long he had petitioned Alistair to allow him to give his seat in Redcliff to his younger brother, Tegan. Alistair, of course, had accepted.

The two of them continued through the quiet corridors in relative silence until they came to the large wooden doors that lead to the King's quarters. The two guards stationed outside bowed and pulled open the doors for them to enter, revealing a young man dressed in the livery of the royal family. Rhiannon recognized him as Alec Bryland, a rather serious young man who had been appointed to Alistair's household earlier in the month.

"Your Majesty, My Lord Chancellor," he bowed before leading them into the parlor, "His Majesty will arrive to dine with you soon. If it pleases Your Majesty, may I escort your ladies to eat with the Gentlemen of His Majesty's household?"

Rhiannon nodded her consent and watched her ladies trail after Alec, leaving her and Eamon alone to await Alistair's arrival. Her stomach growled loudly and she wished that she had had a chance to consume more than her morning cup of tea.

"Ah, there you two are."

Alistair entered the room, dressed simply in a shirt and trousers. She smiled and dipped into a curtsey as he took her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers.

"Good morning, Alistair." She said, straightening back up

"I'm sorry for the hour," he replied, "I know how much you hate waking early, but I figured it would be best to get this out of the way. Shall we?"

Get what out of the way? Rhiannon glanced over at Eamon, who didn't seem the least bit puzzled. In fact, he looked impatient if anything. As she took a seat in one of the armchairs, she felt tendrils of dread writhing in her gut.

"So," Alistair began, "Eamon would you like to share the concerns that you have with us?"

"Concerns?" Rhiannon repeated, doing her best to keep a neutral tone.

"Yes," Alistair replied, "Eamon has something he wishes to discuss concerning the welfare of the realm. He came to me last night, but I insisted upon having you here to weigh in on the issue."

Before she could speak, an elven girl entered the room bearing a tray with fresh biscuits, butter, jam, and honey as well as a piping hot pot of tea. Alistair took the tray and thanked her before sending her on her way. Happy to have something to do with her mouth, Rhiannon took a biscuit from the tray and took a bite.

"I did not mean to exclude Your Majesty," Eamon said, smoothing his hair, " I simply wished to get the matter settled as soon as possible."

"I see," she took the pot and poured the steaming liquid into her cup, "and what matter might that be?"

"Apparently, the nobility is grumbling," Alistair said, buttering his bread

Rhiannon cocked an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. In the past six months, she and Alistair had focused most of their energy and resources on rebuilding the parts of the country that had been devastated by the Blight, raising taxes when it became clear that the cost was more than the crown could bear. She had insisted that their allies be rewarded early and that those who had stood against them not be punished, but allowed to keep their lands. By all rights, the nobility had little to grumble over.

"It is much more serious than mere grumbling, I'm afraid," Eamon replied, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Then what could possibly have their knickers in a twist," Alistair asked, "we've asked them for nothing they were incapable of providing. They might remember that we also increased taxes amongst the general populace."

"It is not the taxes, Your Majesty."

"Then what on earth could be the problem?"

Suddenly, the realization washed over her. She took a deep breath and set down her cup upon its saucer.

"It's Anora, isn't it?"

Eamon nodded, his expression grave "I'm afraid so, Your Majesty. She has been locked away in Fort Drakon these past months and the people are not pleased. She was well loved, and still has supporters within the Landsmeet."

"So what do you want us to do, kill her?"

No sooner had the words left her lips she knew that was exactly what he wanted them to do. She should have expected it, must have known deep down that the subject would be broached eventually. Still, the idea was not one she wished to dwell on.

"What if she swore fealty," she inquired, "renounced her claim to the throne before the Landsmeet and bent the knee?"

"Do you really think she would do that," scoffed Alistair, "if she's anything like her father, she could make this very ugly."

"I am inclined to agree with His Majesty," Eamon said, "Anora Mac Tir would never hand over something she felt was hers by right."

"She might, if only to save her own life."

The silence that followed made it clear that she was the only one who held this opinion. Eamon's gaze hardened as he looked at her from across the table, his hands gripping the arm of his chair. So this was why he had gone to Alistair behind her back; he hoped to rid himself of Anora without Rhiannon's interference. And why not? He had always disliked her and her father, considering them upstarts and unworthy of both crown and Teyrnir. Anora hadn't allowed him to pull Cailen's strings the way he had wanted and he now seemed to realize that Rhiannon would be just as unwilling to let him pull Alistair's.

Quickly, she turned to Alistair and took his hand in hers, gazing into his eyes as she spoke.

"Alistair, as King I know that the final decision is yours to make," she dropped her gaze momentarily, "but I beg you to entertain the idea of mercy. Allow me to speak to her and see if she will agree to reason."

"If she does not, then what?" Alistair asked, "Eamon has a point. Her claim could put us and any future heirs in jeopardy."

"If she will not agree, then she will die," Rhiannon consented, "I will not try to sway you."

"You are making a mistake," Eamon interjected, " ignoring her treason due to your personal feelings makes you look weak. Your Majesty, I beg you not to indulge this foolishness."

"Eamon," Alistair said, his tone quiet, "You should have a care for how you speak to your Queen. I have listened to you both and I feel like Rhiannon should be given a chance to try her plan. If Anora fails to take mercy when it is offered, then you will get what you wanted."

"I- yes, Your Majesty."

"As for you, wife," he said, " I want Anora's answer by tomorrow evening."

"You shall have it."

"Then we shall reconvene tomorrow?" Eamon asked, rising to his feet

"We shall, My Lord." Rhiannon replied, smiling as he bowed and headed for the door, "we wish you a good rest of your day."

She watched as he hurried out of the room, fist clenched at his side, realizing that Eamon was indeed going to be a problem.

Anora Mac Tir gazed at her reflection; the early morning sunlight streaming through her window illuminated the highlights in her hair, which still shone like spun gold without a hint of grey to suggest her age. Her eyes, she noticed, told another story. Dark circles marred her otherwise creamy complexion, brought forth by months of mild insomnia. On a good night, she might snatch five or six hours before the morning bells roused her from her sleep. On a bad night, she might stare at the ceiling for hours, drifting off as the first rays of sunlight broke on the horizon before being awoken once more by her nightmares.

The first few months after being locked away, she had woken screaming so loudly that the guards had come rushing into her cell. That had been foolish, to show such fear in front of her enemies; and they were her enemies. The guards were kind, though they insisted upon calling her 'My Lady' as if she was some gently born commoner instead of the rightful Queen of Ferelden. The maids that had been assigned to her, two granddaughters of Lord Mac Eanraig, seemed afraid of her and went about their duties in near silence. Still, no matter their respect or their meekness, she knew who they were loyal to and that they could not be trusted.

The creak of the door signaled the arrival of the maids, come to help her dress and bring her breakfast. She rose from her seat and turned to face them, a gasp escaping her lips before she thought to bite it back.

"Good morning Anora," said Rhiannon Cousland

Rhiannon Therin she corrected herself as she took in the girl before her. The last time she had seen the girl, she had been covered in blood and calling for her the execution of her father. News reached her that she had carried out the sentence herself after Anora had been escorted from the Landsmeet hall. 'I will not force another daughter to watch her father die' she had said. Of course, Anora had still been forced to look upon the blood-soaked stones that had held her father when he fell, while this child declared herself queen alongside her husband's bastard brother; All with the support of the nobility, who she once thought had loved her so well.

Now, the girl dressed in deep blue velvet trimmed with white fur, jewels glittering at her throat and a golden crown resting atop her copper curls, making her suddenly aware of her simple nightdress and plain slippers.

"Rhiannon," She said, turning to go back to her seat at the vanity, "you find me ill prepared for visitors."

She noticed Rhiannon's eyes flash at the lack of honorific, though she quickly covered her irritation with a smile and chuckled at her gall.

"You'll have to forgive me for not giving advanced notice, but time is of the essence. I have an offer for you."

"What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life, for one thing," she replied, crossing the room and sitting down in the window seat, "Something Eamon seems to desire very much it seems."

"Oh, and you don't?" Anora scoffed

"As it happens, I don't." she said, "Your father betrayed this country and its people, and may have committed regicide as well. You, however, simply had the ill favor of picking the wrong side."

"Did you expect me to turn on my father?"

Rhiannon shook her head, "No. No, I knew you would never speak against him. Honestly, it was pure luck that things worked out the way they did."

Anora inhaled sharply as memories from that day came back full force. A mistimed swing, fueled by wild fury had been enough to destroy everything she held dear. 

"How dare you," she sneered, "you murdered my father and you have the nerve to speak to me about luck!"

She blushed prettily, lowering her eyes before continuing, "I apologize, my words were badly chosen. However, the point stands that I would prefer not to snuff out an entire line. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say."

"Very well. Speak."

"All you must do is swear fealty to Alistair and I. Do this, and not only will your life be spared, but you will also be given back the Teyrnir of Gwaren."

"I see," She said carefully, "I'm sorry but I cannot bring myself to believe that you would simply hand me back my lands with so little done on my part."

"Well," Rhiannon said, toying with the ring on her left hand, "Alistair would have to assign you staff that has proven to be loyal to the crown and in time, if there is no sign of treachery, you will be allowed to make your own appointments."

"If there is no treachery," Anora repeated, glaring at the girl sitting across from her, "you said yourself that I was innocent of my father's crimes."

"I did," Rhiannon agreed, her lips curving into a smirk, "but do you think me such a stupid girl that I would trust you not to start an uprising given the chance? No, Anora, we will be watching you until we are sure of your loyalty."

"So you would grant me my life, only to have me live with the threat of a traitors death hanging over my head?"

"If you do not intend to commit treason, then you have nothing to fear from us." Rhiannon rose to her feet and started towards the door, Do you agree?"

Anora breathed in, looking at her hands and noticed that they were shaking.

"I agree to your terms, Your Majesty."

********************************************  
The morning of the Landsmeet, Rhiannon made her way to the palace courtyard where Alistair was waiting for her. He smiled at her as she approached, and helped her into the carriage. Settling into the cushioned bench beside him, she noted that he was fiddling with the gold chain that hung around his neck.

"Alistair," she said, taking his hand, "everything will be fine."

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat, "Am I that easy to read?"

"A bit, yes." She straightened his chain and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Just stay calm. Soon, we can put all of this behind us"

The ride to the Landsmeet hall was a quick one and soon they had pulled up in front of the building. Outside, crowds of people lined up to watch the nobility as they entered. Thunderous cheers went up as she and Alistair stepped out into the sunlight. She smiled and waved at the people as they made their way inside, breathing a sigh of relief once the heavy doors had shut behind them.

She had only a moment to ready herself, straightening her back and putting a serene smile on her lips before she and Alistair entered the Landsmeet chamber, waving at the nobles who stood along either side of the room. Settling herself into her throne, she looked out at the sea of faces until her eyes fell on her brother. Fergus smiled back at her and she felt herself relax a little bit.

Alistair rose from his seat and the entire room fell silent as he began to speak.

"My Lords and Ladies of Ferelden," he began, "it has been six long months since the end of the Blight. In these months, our first priority has been the relief of those parts of our nation that were ravaged by the darkspawn and I am pleased to say that much progress has been made in that quarter."

Applause rang out through the hall and Rhiannon barely managed to conceal her amusement; a mere six months ago these same Lords and Ladies were in an uproar over the tax hikes that paid for the reconstruction.

"However," he continued, as the noise died down, "it is our opinion that the time has come to discuss those matters of state that we have put on hold for far too long."

The door to the chamber swung open and in walked Anora, flanked by two guardsmen. Rhiannon watched her float down the length of the hall, beautiful even in the simple green gown that she had decided to wear for the occasion. She scanned the crowd as she approached, her expression unreadable until she stopped before Alistair and herself. It was then that their gazes met and Rhiannon saw the steel in her eyes.

Everyone in the room had gone quiet when Anora had arrived, but now a chorus of whispers filled the air and did not die until Alistair held up his hand and signaled for them to be silent.

"Lady Anora Mac Tir has, at Queen Rhiannon's urging, agreed to swear fealty to the crown," Eamon announced to the crowd, "since she was not part of her father's awful treason, the crown is willing to offer mercy. My Lady, You may make your statement."

All eyes in the room turned to Anora, whose face remained a mask of neutrality.

"My Lords and Ladies," her voice rang out, clear and strong, "I have come before you not to beg mercy as some feel I ought to, but to remind you all that I was a good queen to all of you. Years of peace and prosperity under my leadership-"

Shit. Rhiannon squeezed Alistair's arm, trying to signal for him to do something, be he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Eamon, however, suffered from no such ailment.

"Lady Anora," he snapped, "you are not here to regale us with tales of your time as Cailen's consort. Their Majesties have offered you mercy and I suggest you take it, for it shall not be offered again."

"Consort?" She glared up at him, defiance etched onto her features, "We all know who truly ruled this country, Eamon. I shall not bow to your puppet king and beg his pardon while he sits upon my throne!"

"You damn yourself with your own tongue, you foolish woman," he declared, then turned to Rhiannon and Alistair, "Your Majesties, it is obvious that she will never concede, despite the mercy that has been offered to her."

Alistair looked to her, only for a moment but it was enough to realize that he was asking for her consent to do what had to be done. She felt herself give the slightest of nods and watched as he addressed the woman standing before them.

" Anora Mac Tir, we offered you mercy and you have thrown it back in our face," he said, "by refusing to renounce any claim to Ferelden's throne, you have declared yourself an enemy of the Crown and are guilty of high treason. For these crimes, you are sentenced to death. You will be returned to Fort Drakon to await your execution."

Anora did not react, her face a mask of calm. When the guards moved to escort her from the hall, she jerked out of their grasp and spun to stare straight at Rhiannon.

"Tread carefully, Your Majesty," she spat the honorific like a curse, " you may be a hero to these people now, but when you are no longer of use they will cast you down as quickly as they raised you!"

Before Rhiannon could think to respond, Anora was led from the room; her words still hanging in the air.  
*************************************************************  
Clouds hung low over Denerim on the morning she was to die, bloated with rain and obscuring her view of the city from her tower cell. Still, she looked out of the window and remembered when her father had first brought her to the city from Gwaren. She had only been eleven years old and unused to the sights and smell of a city, so different from the dense forests of home. Cailen had happily played the part of the guide and, once, they even managed to slip away from their caretakers and venture down to the docks. Her father had been furious when they had been found, soaking wet and smelling of fish.

The door creaked open as the two girls entered the room. Her final meal consisted of cooked oats drizzled with honey, a mug of tea and a chunk of fresh bread. She ate slowly, savoring every bite, no longer caring about the possibility of it being laced with poison. In the days that followed the Landsmeet, she had expected the Cousland girl's pet assassin to appear in her room, doubting that Maric's bastard had the stomach to go through with a public execution. 

She had been wrong of course. In fact, the little Queen herself had come to inform her of the exact time and date of her death, as well as letting her know that she would not be forced to bow under the headman's ax. Instead, the blow would come from a very proficient Antivan swordsman. She supposed she should take comfort in the fact that she would not meet her end after suffering the pain and humiliation of a botched execution. Anora had expected her to demand a reason, to know why she would throw away her own life. Or, at the very least, to react to what had been said to her at the Landsmeet. Yet she had done neither, her tone had been cool when they spoke and her eyes betrayed none of the pity or guilt they had in their first meeting. No, she had simply informed her of the specifics of her impending death and swept out of the room.

Once she finished with breakfast, one of the girls filled her tub with water warmed over the fire. Shedding her nightgown, she noticed that her already fair skin had become even paler during her confinement. Goosebumps erupted along her arms and legs as the cool are made contact with her body. Slowly she lowered herself into the water and tried to relax as the two girls scrubbed her clean. Her thoughts turned, not for the first time since her confinement, to Erlina. She had been her handmaiden and friend since she was thirteen and now, at the end of her life, she found herself yearning for presence. Tears sprung to her eyes and she blinked them away.

I will not cry, she thought furiously, not now.

Once she was clean and dry, she was dressed in a simple white shift dress. Her hair was brushed and braided into a bun, so as not to impeded the sword that would sever her head from her body. Dressed and groomed, there was little to do but wait.

The tenth hour bell rang in the Chantry bell tower, its song sounding throughout the city. Anora wondered if the bells would ring for her once she was dead; if prayers would be said for her soul. Unlikely, all things considered; it seemed the best that she could hope for was to be remembered in drunken toasts amongst the commoners, a footnote in the histories.

Anora was almost thankful when the tower constable came to collect her, saving her from her own dark ruminations. She slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and a grey fur-lined mantle was draped over her shoulders to guard against the cold and fastened with a bronze pin. The constable, a grizzled old man, looked her over.

"Are you ready, My Lady?"

"I am," she replied, "but may I ask you a favor?"

"Of course My Lady."

She fiddled with the band on her left hand, simple gold with small diamonds embedded throughout.

"I am aware that it is customary for the personal effects of executed persons to be handed over to the headsman as part of his payment," she said, "but I ask to be allowed to keep my wedding ring. It is all I have left of Cailen, and I would like it to be on my finger when I am cremated."

The old man's face softened and he nodded, "Of course, My Lady. It shall be as you say."

The walk to the western courtyard was a quick one; it had been scarcely ten minutes since leaving her cell and already the scaffold loomed in the distance. A small crowd of nobles milled about, awaiting her arrival. On the platform stood a Chantry sister and the man who would strike the killing blow. A row of guardsmen stood along the base, their armor gleaming in the scarce sunlight.

She paused at the stairs, her heart constricting in her chest as she was seized by the sudden instinct to flee. That morning's breakfast threatened to make a reappearance as she stood there, rooted to the spot.

Maker, what had she done?

"My Lady," the constable's voice sounded in her ear, "My Lady you must go up. Have courage."

Courage. Yes, she would face what was to come with her dignity intact and remind all those assembled that she was a Queen. Steadying her breath, she ascended the steps and allowed herself to be lead to the center of the platform to face the small crowd that had come to witness her fate. Alistair and Rhiannon were not present, as was customary, but Eamon was there in their stead. Fergus Cousland was also present, as the second most powerful man in the kingdom, as was Bann Teagan. Teagan met her gaze and offered up what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile before averting his eyes.

The constable moved forward to address the crowd, who had gone silent upon her appearance. As he moved past her, he gave her a gentle pat on the arm.

"My Lords and Ladies of Ferelden," he said, "on this the second of Cloudreach in the thirty-first year of the Dragon Age, Lady Anora Mac Tir, having been found guilty of high treason, is sentenced to die by order of our good King Alistair. Long may he reign."

"Long may he reign." Echoed the crowd

"Now," he continued, "will the condemned address the crowd?"

Anora stepped forward, just a few inches in front of the block. She breathed deeply, the scent of imminent rainfall filling her nose. Thunder rumbled overhead and the sky had begun to darken. Gathering her wits, she focused on a spot somewhere in the distance and began to speak.

"My Lords and Ladies," she said, willing her voice not to waver, "I have come here to die, in accordance with the law. I shall beg no pardon from any man or woman for my imagined crimes, but instead, go to the Maker's side content in the knowledge that I die a true Queen of Ferelden."

The silence that followed was deafening, no one really knowing how to react. Eamon glared up at her in the small sea of shocked or saddened faces. Finally, a voice broke the silence.

"Maker bless you, My Lady!"

Startled, she scanned the crowd before locking eyes with Bann Teagan. The cry went up amongst a few of the nobles, scattered voices in the crowd. Anora's vision began to blur as tears filled her eyes. This time she didn't bother to wipe them away, letting them slide down her cheeks. The constable turned to her, his face grim. It was time.

The two girls moved forward and Anora made herself really look at them for the first time since this ordeal had begun. Both were tall and willowy, but one was dark haired and freckled while the other matched her own coloring. Both had tears streaming down their faces.

"I am so sorry," she said suddenly, "I-I never learned your names, in all the time that you've served me."

"I am Ellana," the brunette choked out, "and my sister is called Amelia."

Anora nodded, "Well thank you, girls. For your service."

She turned back to face the crowd as Ellana relieved her of her mantle, shivering in the morning air. Thunder rolled as she was led to the block and the order was given for her to kneel. As she sunk to her knees, prayers began to fall from her lips.

O' Creator see me kneel

For I walk only where you would bid me

Stay only in places you have blessed

Sing only the words you place in my throat

The straw stabbed through the thin fabric of her dress as she settled into position.

My Maker, know my heart

Take from me a life of sorrow

Lift me from a world of pain

Judge me worthy of your endless pride

The black, polished oak was smooth to her touch as she placed both hands upon its surface.

My creator judge me whole

Find me well within your grace

Touch me with fire that I may be cleansed

Tell me I have sung to your approval

The last thing her eyes beheld before the blindfold plunged her into darkness was the drops of water upon the dark wood. She wondered if they were her own tears.

O Maker, hear my cry

Seat me by your side in death

Make me one within your glory

And let the world once more see your favor

The block was cold against her cheek, wet with the rain that had begun to fall. Another roll of thunder filled the air, nearly loud enough to drown out the rasp of the blade as it was drawn from its scabbard.

For you are the fire at the heart of the world,

And comfort is only yours to give.


End file.
